Castlevania New Moon Sonata
by TheSpuriousGadfly
Summary: An alternate story featuring a mostly original cast in the world of Castlevania. Dracula has arisen once more to pose a threat to Europe, but this time no Belmont rises to quell the growing threat. With the world in chaos a holy knight of the Knights Hospitaller and a new companion find themselves up against overwhelming odds and demons both internal and external in Castlevania
1. 1 Castile of the Damned

This is a Castlevania fan fiction that I've been brainstorming for a while with my partner, but have just finally got around to putting in text. I hope you enjoy the read!

Summary: A sort of alternate story neatly slotted into the Castlevania timeline, detailing the return of Dracula and Castlevania to a Europe where a Belmont does not rise to stop them. Not to mention a host of other surprises!

Featuring: Dracula, Death, a number of references to lesser characters/monsters (here's looking at you mermen), and a cast of original characters!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Castlevania! That's all Konami's bag.

* * *

CHAPTER 1 - Castile of the Damned

Lightning split the air, the clap of thunder coming not long after. Thick clouds, devil's smoke roiling and flowing through the air. It had built up and up, threatening a downpour, but seemingly too afraid to spill its water on such unholy ground. But yet its cobbles were slick; blood covered the ground, too dark and black to be fresh, trickling into gullies and painting the moat.

Sir Renard could scarcely breathe. Every breath brought the horrid stench, tangible and grotesque, of death. The sickly-sweet smell of his brothers' gore. He couldn't even tell who had saved his life, whose bulk lay between him and death. He was sure he had known the man in life. But... he could identify no man whose neck ended in a stump, and whose raiments were sodden with their own blood, obscuring all familiarity.

Still... Sir Renard got a hand around the man's armor, pushing, rolling the corpse off of him. He crawled then, a knight on his hands and knees, but it was hard to do anything else. His breast plate, so proudly emblazoned with the cross of his order, had been crushed, and now restricted every breath but the shallowest, but no man could breathe too deeply of this evil air... He got a hand around the straps that held his plate to chain and leather jerkin, and with a gasp at life the plate came off, clattering on the stone. The leather jerkin and iron mail were battered, but could stay.

He'd had no idea just how this could go wrong. A full detachment of the Knights, the Knights Hospitaller... cut down in mere moments. The sun had scarcely had time to flee beyond the horizon, and they had made their strike at sunset. It was... worse than anyone could have imagined. This horrid thing more than lived up to its name, as a demonic force... the castile of the damned... Castlevania.

"Hello? Anyone? Rally to me, brothers!" he called to the courtyard. If you are there, he thought to himself. But his cries fell not on deaf ears, but ears lost to the grave. Around him, he could make out the occasional face. Pierre DuMont, Gilles Favre... even the youngest of the recruits had not been spared. Luc, Gerard, Vincent... men so new and so green that he had not even had the opportunity to learn anything but their most familiar names. Not even Knights in the service of their Lord yet. Mere squires... and they had fallen, too.

Sir Renard peered into the velvet night. They had come to the courtyard, had started to establish a siege... when... The swish of a cloak, behind which bony hands had struck the death knell of the entire Order. Savage beasts had arisen from the ground itself, and even as some fell, they arose mere moments later, hollow-eyed and sallow-fleshed, feasting on their own. They had since shambled off into the castle, their forms twisted and broken, jerking away as if on the strings on a sadistic puppeteer. But... how had they missed him?

He moved through the pile of his former brothers like a shade in a still world. The bridge had been drawn behind them, cutting off their one escape. Some had flung themselves into the moat, trying to swim for safety... but... but... unknowable things had lurked within. Horrid malefactors with webbed, clawed hands.

No. From this wretched hell, there was no escape.

"What justice is this?" he asked of himself, of anyone who could listen just then. If there were no way out of this place, no reprieve from this hell... he gazed up at the castile, stretching into the sky. One could say it scraped the heavens, but what divine ideal would this cruel manifestation no? A mockery. An insult. But if it were true, if there were no way out...

From the wreckage of his brotherhood he found a breastplate, close enough in size and undented, and with trembling fingers he undid it. Ignoring to the best of his ability the hollow eyes that stared at him, through him, and the blood-soaked and cold lips of what had once been a steward, Benoit. "Rest, my friend," Renard said, closing the reedy man's eyes, and donning his armor in turn.

From another he gathered a halberd, anointed in blessed water from His Holiness himself, but of no use to a man who had been tusked long before he knew what had hit him. He hefted the weapon, his own having been gnashed between the jaws of a fanged horror. Whomsoever had shielded him, he owed a debt. A debt, he hoped as he surveyed the wretched castile, that he meant to pay in full.

* * *

Well. That was no good. She had arrived at the horrid gates an hour past, the entrance to Castlevania... but the bridge had already risen, and locked in place. Locked in the screams of terror she could still hear the echoes of. This truly was the citadel of all that was evil in this world. And also where... no. She couldn't think of that right now. Just... it was already done. Her fingers twitched at her side, thumbing the binded leather of the whip, a comfort to her.

The whip snapped around the tree branch, holding tight to it. She would not be stopped by something like this. Giving the whip a tug or two to make sure it held tight, she stepped backward. Taking a steadying breath... she ran, and then she flew.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-"

* * *

Renard started within the castle's walls. The voice of another human? Or... the call of some other foul beast? He was a man of God, a knight who budged before no man, after all this... he could not keep from shaking, and the halberd clattered in his gauntleted grip.

"Gah, finally," came that very same voice from over the wall. While the castle itself was immaculate black stone and spires, the wall showed disrepair, and several stones gave way and fell into the moat below, from which those amphibious horrors snapped and roared. First a hand appeared over the parapet, and moments later a booted leg. And finally...

_A lady? No, not even that. She could scarcely have reached womanhood, _Renard thought to himself.

A shock of pure red appeared, framing the thinly-lined face of what appeared to be just a regular young lass. Well... perhaps not regular, if she were capable of scaling a sealed castle with nothing but her hands and a whip, but... She dropped off the other side, into the battlefield. Followed very shortly by a gasp.

"What the _hell_ happened here?" she asked aloud, punctuated by a crack of her whip. "It's just... like Wallachia," she said, her voice tinged with hurt and worry. Her eyes were puffy and red, but not a tear spilled over. She had spilt the last hours ago.

"Who goes there?" came the voice of a man, and from the gore stepped a knight, brandishing a halberd, clearly shaken and shaking from what had happened here.

Cecilia snapped her whip again, eying the knight. _Just... what exactly happened here?_ she wondered. Banners, tattered and worn, still blew limply in the breeze. The sign of the Knights Hospitaller. They had just been there, a week before. In Wallachia, looking for recruits. Luc had managed to get out of the town... but even he had fallen in the end. To... to all of this. She bit back a dry sob.

"I'm not an enemy! I'm here to help!" Cecilia called, not dropping her whip, but coiling it up and attaching it to her belt. Showing she meant no harm.

The knight visibly relaxed, but did not drop his halberd. "Who are you? I am..." Were the Knights still... the Knights? He was the only one in the country now. Would it be presumptuous to call himself the commander? Or... "I am Sir Renard. Warrior of the Knights Hospitaller. I am..." It killed him to say it. He almost couldn't. "... the only survivor."

Cecilia winced. It seemed... it seemed that already they had something in common, didn't they? "My name is Cecilia Lambert. I'm from Wallachia. It's... Dracula's reach is far," she said quietly.

Renard paused for a moment. He knew what all that implied, and could feel her pain. He had felt it all too keenly this night. "If you've come to stop Dracula. Then... the door lays wide open," he said. He hefted his halberd, and pointed it blade-first at the gates. They stood ajar, and from within, any sane man could feel the call of darkness. Wretched evil swirled and writhed within.

Cecilia was jerked out of her own thoughts. Dracula was here, too. But that wasn't her only target. "Yeah... yeah, you're right," she said, swallowing her sorrow. It... it served no purpose. She undid her whip again, and held it loosely in her gloved fingers. "Let's... let's go, shall we?"

* * *

Author's Note – Hey, I'd really like to thank all of those who've read thus far. I've really enjoyed writing it, and if you've enjoyed reading it, please drop me a review! I'm always up for any sort of constructive criticism, and it really is appreciated. I just want to make the best story I possibly can.

I'd also just like to thank ya for over 500 views from over 100 separate visitors!


	2. 2 Song of the Damned

CHAPTER 2 – Song of the Damned

The entrance hall was cold and drafty, ancient torches that cast shadows they should not have cast, and gave off only a dread chill, lined the hall all the way down. They flickered as one massive door was pushed open with a grunt and a heave, ancient hinges whining and protesting as it swung so slowly open.

"Ngh. How the hell are you supposed to get in and out of this place when the door is so heavy?" Cecilia asked, pillowing her head on her arms, leaning against the door.

"They've creatures stronger than any mortal man. I don't think it's as much a problem for them," Renard said, taking a few steps into the grand entrance hall.

Tattered curtains billowed out, the heavy deep red that came when white cloth was steeped in blood, and the ghastly flames of the torches that stood between each window flickered. Outside, visible through the windows, the rain was coming down, hitting the glass and sounding like stones skittering across marble. The sort of torrential downpour that obscured one's view, and hit the ground so hard as to kick up a fine mist, though this mist was tinged with red. But outside, through the way they'd come, it was still as if the clouds waited on bated breath. Curiou-SLAM.

Behind them, the massive door had slammed shut, rocking on its hinges under its own weight. Locking them away in a room that, with the absence of the various scents outside, had a particular stench of its very own. The sordid aroma of rot.

Renard pressed a hand against the door, and not only would it not budge, but the crevice between either side of the door was smoothed over, leaving nothing but a large, foreboding wall in the shape of an arch. "This place truly is damned," Renard muttered to himself. There was no doubt about that, and there was also no way out. And only then did he become aware that Cecilia had disappeared.

"Cecilia, where ar-" he started, turning around. He came to face only her hand, stopping short.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered. In fact… down the hall, the carpet was bulging and roiling, like the surface of a pot of boiling water, and then the sound of creaking floorboards, ripping fabric—Renard gasped.

Sallow-faced, with flesh that hung and was pockmarked like a moth-eaten blanket; crooked-fingered, with disjointed and jerky movements; zombies were tearing their way out of the floorboards. Some were clothed like peasants, others in the remains of Hospitaller armor. Renard's heart dropped then, and he felt sick.

The zombies lurched down the hallway, and Renard gripped at his halberd. The legions of hell were upon them, clothed in the raiment of holy men! He couldn't fight them, could he? Not his bro-

"Renard! Start swinging!" Cecilia barked, and with a crack like lightning her whip struck out, the barbs at the very end tearing through the first of the zombies, shredding him very cleanly in two.

"Wh-… right," Renard said, and he waded in. The zombies lurched forward like glacial drift, but were cut down summarily with each crack of the whip and slash of the halberd's anointed blade, the flesh of the zombies sizzling and burning away with every passing of the blade. But for every one they cut down, two took their place.

Renard did his best to not look at whatever he swung at, but he still saw more than one crest of his order. Even… the sigil of a commander, cast in silver, pinned to the chest of a man with empty eyes. He swallowed and swung.

"Push forward, I don't think there is an end to them!" Renard called out, his arms growing more and more numb, and stomach queasier and queasier with every heavy swing of the polearm. The whip cut a swath before them, and quickly the two of them made their way to the end of the hallway. A door beckoned them forward, and the two of them made it through before slamming the door shut on encroaching hands, cutting off several fingers in the doorframe.

"Well, that was close," Cecilia breathed, kicking away a still-wriggling hand, before turning. Renard stood still a few feet away, turning over and over in his hands a little silver decoration, the shape of a cross. His knuckles were white as he gripped it.

"Are you alrig-"

"I'm _fine,_" Renard said, carefully pinning the cross to the cloth of his pants.

"Okay," Cecilia said quietly, carefully coiling the whip up, attaching it to her belt, before taking stock of their surroundings. They had ended up in another hallway, much less grand than the entrance hall. It stretched to either side, and through a window they could see the main body of the castle up ahead, and if you squinted, other wings of the castle to both the left and right. The hallway stretched around corners, forming one large square with what appeared to be a garden in the middle. Above, a blanket of clouds, through which was filtered a weak sunlight.

Renard made immediately for the next hallway; he was a man on a mission, but Cecilia's hand latched onto his arm. "Let's wait for a bit. Relax. Rest," she said.

The knight almost dragged himself out of her grasp, but relented. "Let's at least make sure that those things can't stumble upon us as we rest," he said, and hefted his halberd. He settled it across the doorframe, between the handles. The heavy steel shaft would certainly waylay pursuers of any sort.

Afterward, with a moment to relax, Renard sunk low onto the ground, letting some the tension in his body seep out. He needed this. A moment to relax, not fear for his life. It was hard to believe how much a few scant hours had managed to change him.

Even Cecilia could see it, the weight on him. As the pouch on her hip started to squirm, she hastily went to quell what lay within. Renard didn't need that as well right now.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Nothing, nothing. Hey, are you going to be alright?

"Yes... yes, I will. Just... Keep watch for a minute, will you? I need to rest," he said, feeling weary all of a sudden. All of that adrenaline he'd had had drained out of his system, leaving a tired weary knight in his place.

"Sure." She could do with the rest herself. She'd run the many miles it had taken to get here, scarcely stopping. It had taken two days, but she'd been in good enough condition when she'd arrived. It would be good for them.

* * *

At least an hour had to have passed. Renard woke, senses dulled, perceiving the world through a blanket of cotton. He could just barely make out voices.

"- ure I'm not going to change my mind. Stop asking, Lu."

"What was that?" Renard asked, slowly pushing himself to his feet. Every joint in his body ached.

"Nothing," Cecilia said, shoving something into her pouch, quickly rocking back up to her feet as well. She seemed in much better spirits herself now, full of vigor.

"I could have sworn I heard so-"

"Just your imagination, I assure you. Come on. Which way are we heading?"

"... We go forward. It's the only way we can go," Renard said wearily, dropping the topic for just now. He collected his halberd from the door, and rested it against his shoulder before looking back down the hallway. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, willing this day to just end, but when he opened his eyes, he saw only the sunlit garden and a worried Cecilia. "Come on," he said, waving Cecilia after him as he headed left.

It only made sense that Dracula, the creature behind all of… _this_ would be in the main castle. Perhaps at its very heart, he surmised. A heart he fully intended to stake.

It did not take the two of them very long at all to make their way entirely around the hallway, but… there was a sound.

"Is that piano music?" Renard asked quietly. It was unmistakable; dulcet tones, a gentle soothing melody that clashed so horribly with this dark and twisted castle.

Cecilia stiffened. _That tune…_

"Are you alright, Cecilia?" Renard asked, reaching out for her shoulder, but she jerked away.

"I'm fine. Maybe we should try to look in one of the other wings. I mean, it seems obvious he would be in there, so maybe he'snot. Atrickatrap," she said hastily, her words blurring together in her speed to get them out, almost coming out like a jumble.

Renard gave her an odd look, and gently set a hand down on the door handle. "Go wherever you please. I want to end this as soon as possible," Renard said resolutely. Her protests were muffled by the door… and the sound of a piano.

The room beyond was another massive chamber, but that was to be expected of this castle by this point. It was a proper ballroom, lit by a high skylight through which those weak strands of sunlight streamed and a number of torches and candles, bathing the chamber in cold light. Tables sat entirely untouched, finely laid out with chairs and cloths of varying shades of red and purple.

At a piano, so inky black and smooth so as to swallow every shred of light rather than reflect it, sat a man. In a purple tailcoat, with sable hair that hung down its entire length. His skin was pale. Too pale.

"Dracula! Turn and face me!" Renard called out, slamming the base of his halberd against the ground. "Face your judgment, you foul creature of the night!"

The piano continued to play, thin gloved fingers gently pressing down each key in turn. A peaceful tune, one that almost seemed mocking right then. "You think I am Dracula? That's funny. You're funny," came the reply. It was... a youthful, lilting voice. The sort of voice that belonged to a bard, not a demon. Not Dracula.

"Don't _mock_ me. Turn and face me, then!" Renard said, hefting his halberd in his hands. The music suddenly stopped.

"If that is what you want, then I could not be happier to oblige," came that same lilting voice, and slowly, the thin white gloves were slowly stripped off of his hands. He folded them carefully, tucking them into a pocket before fanning out the tails of his coat.

He stood, almost impossibly tall by the standards Renard knew. Half a foot again taller than he, a tall man himself. Almost elongated. Wrong. And when he finally turned, his features somehow seemed wrong, too. A thin, angular face with a pointed nose and chin. High cheek bones, looking more like an elf, but so much larger, than any sort of human. With skin as white as snow.

"You.. are not Dracula. Who are you?" Renard demanded.

"So tough. And astute," he mocked, clapping slowly as he approached Renard, the clicking of his boots' heels echoing off the far sides of the room. "I must say that I am surprised. I would have thought that Death would have mopped the last of you fellows up. He's slipping in his old age. I'll have to get him for that later," he said.

"You..." Renard breathed, eyes wide. Death Himself killed his allies? That dark robed creature? "I will make you pa-hrk-"

"Oh, shut up. Bugs do not complain about being crushed underfoot," the thin man said, withdrawing the knife he had thrust straight through Renard's breastplate.


	3. 3 Reunion of the Damned

CHAPTER 3 – Reunion of the Damned

Blood seeped between Renard's fingers, hitting the ground a drop at a time, freefalling for what seemed like an eternity. He gasped, seeing his own blood glisten on the tip of a stiletto knife, being carefully lapped up by a fanged demon. "Vampire," Renard gasped, tasting the heady flavor of iron on his tongue. He'd bit his damn tongue.

"It is good to see that at least your cognitive abilities have not been impaired," the vampire said casually, tasting the blood as if it were a fine wine. Renard slumped against the door, feeling woozy from the sudden loss of blood. "I was worried we might have lost something irreplaceable and priceless there," he continued, mocking.

But he wasn't paying attention just then, so…

"You don't taste terrible. Perhaps you could make a light snack," the vampire said, idly wiping off the end of his knife with a cloth, before turning his attention onto Renard, moving with inhuman speed to catch the halberd on its way. But…

"AUGH!" the vampire hissed, his hand burning, sizzling at the touch of the blessed metal, recoiling as that pure white skin was branded a dark and livid red and his stiletto blade clattered on the polished floor. Yellow eyes widened and thin lips curled back in a sneer, revealing pointed fangs, and the vampire leaped back just as the halberd came for a second swing.

Not letting up, Renard went on the offensive, taking a further swing at the vampire, pushing him back toward the center.

"Perhaps you're not quite as useless as you look," the vampire said, backing up towards the piano, but Renard refused to let up. He was in a rage, brought on by pain both physical and not, driven to kill this bastard. Cut, stab, smash, trying to catch the fast vampire, who dared not strike himself, backing up toward the piano until…

The vampire retaliated then, grabbing his sword from by the piano, a flash of steel as the saber was revealed, drawn, and used.

_I… I can't do it. He… no, I can't kill him. I can't…_

Renard broke away from the engagement sporting several small cuts and nicks, holding his halberd defensively while the vampire drew back a bit. His skin was livid in places, scorched by holy power. That halberd…

"You insolent little worm. Just give up and let your betters put you out of your misery," the vampire spat.

"Don't you insult me, you abomination," Renard shot back, charging again, hammer first.

The vampire only barely escaped the strike of the hammer, leaping away and onto a nearby table. "Just perish," he spat, raising both hands, blade held like a conductor's baton. The flames of torches and candles alike flickered and sputtered, before quelling themselves.

_But if I don't…._

The ballroom was plunged into darkness, save but for the single beam of light that shone down from the skylight high above. Renard immediately stepped into the light, holding his halberd defensively. Where could that vampire have gone…

"You humans are not so tough in the darkness. It is here that we rule. What have you to say to this!" came the vampire's voice. It rang and echoed throughout the ballroom, impossible to pinpoint by sound alone. The shadows were thick as velvet, and a thousand horrors could lurk in any given inch of it.

"That you're a coward! Weak!" Renard called back, a shadow rising up behind him. _Got you._ Renard turned and slashed at the thing, a single shadowy tendril of magic smacking the holy halberd from his hands. It went sliding across the floor, clattering in the darkness, out of his reach. _Damn._

"Who is weak? Without your little weapon, what are you! Nothing!" A screech, far too animalistic to come from any human, and more monstrous still than anything one of God's creations could manage. And then the shadow fell.

Renard caught the vampire full on in mid-flight, sending them both into the darkness. Renard tried his best to shield his face and neck, as the creature of the night tried in vain to sink his fangs into Renard's flesh. "I'm not nothing! I am _human!_" Renard retorted, and ripped the cross off of his pants.

He grabbed for the vampire's neck, enduring cut after cut from the vampire's long, claw-like nails, eliciting trails of blood that streamed down his face, blinding him, but it was not all for naught. He pressed the cross pendant right into the vampire's exposed neck, and that howl only grew tenfold.

Getting a hand around the vampire's jacket, Renard dragged him toward the single ray of light, the vampire screaming and howling all the while. "Burn for your sins you damned creature," Renard spat, forcing the vampire into the light, screaming all the while.

"_Stop it!"_

"Wha-, Cecilia?" Renard asked, momentarily caught off guard. The kick caught him right in the unprotected legs, pushing him back, before a second kick caught him full in the face. Renard fell back into the darkness, clutching at his face, feeling as if he had been smashed by a hammer.

"Gavin! Leave him be!" Cecilia called out again. The vampire, Gavin, hissed in response and nearly made for the prone Renard again, before the lightning crack of a whip caught him full across the back.

He hissed again, and pulled away into the shadows. "It is good to see you again, Cecilia. Did you finally see reason? Come here to my side at last?

"I'm a human too, and if you go at him again, I'll kill you," Cecilia said, rushing to Renard's side. The whip cracked once more, less an attack and more of a threat.

"You would betray me, turn away my kindness? M_e,_ of all people?"

"You betrayed me first," Cecilia said, narrowing her eyes at the darkness, and got a hiss in reply.

"Obstinate woman," the voice came again, but tinged with resignation. Defeat.

"J-just get out of here! Or I will use this on you again. It's called Vampire Killer for a reason," Cecilia threatened, and when no reply came, it seemed that the voice had disappeared entirely. Gavin had retreated.

Cecilia stood still for a moment more, unsure of herself, before immediately going to Renard's side. She looked him over. _Unconscious… he lost a lot of blood way too fast,_ Cecilia figured. Well… there was nothing more for it. She retrieved his halberd, and sat down next to him for a moment, ushering forth a tiny amount of light from a satchel…

* * *

_Rally, men! The spawn of hell cannot stand before God's might!_

_They're… they're feeding! They have Giuseppe!_

_Don't break ranks! They'll kill us quickly!_

_I-i-i-it's the Grim!_

* * *

Renard was shocked awake. His limbs all felt stiff. In fact, every inch of him felt like it had gone through the wringer. He could barely move his face, and when he touched across it… scars. A rather sizable one across his cheek, and several smaller ones as well. That vampire had done quite the number on him.

Nearby, Cecilia was tending a small fire made out of a couple of the chairs, broken into small pieces, presumably with the pure raw destructive force of that whip. Which reminded him…

"You're a Belmont, aren't you," Renard said quietly.

Cecilia jerked when she heard Renard's voice, and once that split-second jubilation passed, she paused. "My name is technically Cecilia Lambert… but yes. My mother passed on to me the blood of the Belmonts. And this," Cecilia said quietly, tapping the whip with one hand.

Renard paused for a moment. There were so many things that needed to be said. Chiefly among them: "Where the _hell_ were you? Because a Belmont did not rise to defeat Dracula, the Hospitaller—my _brothers_ – fought instead. And they're all dead. Every single o-"

"You aren't," Cecilia said quietly.

"… yes, but that hardly makes things better, does it?" Renard asked bitterly. He stood then, feeling his body scream in protest. Which reminded him… "How am I still alive?" he asked.

"I… well, I have a familiar. Some magic," Cecilia said, reaching into her satchel, gently extracting a fairy so small it could scarcely fill one cupped palm. "Her name is Lumina. Her magic... she had to use nearly all of what she had to heal you. You lost a lot of blood very quickly."

"… well, thank you, Belmont," Renard said, slinging the name like a curse. For all it meant to him just then, it was.

Cecilia sat in silence, idly cradling the resting Lumina in her hands as Renard moved about by firelight, putting his armor back on. The cross, covered in vile ichor, was wiped off to the best of his ability and reattached to his pants, and then the breastplate after it. The helmet had been too dented and cut from the fight, and was left behind.

"… my name is Jacques. Jacques Renard," he said at last to Cecilia. "Thank you for the help. However late it might have come," he said, his voice filled with polite chilliness.

Cecilia remained silent, and starting to fill again with anger: "Tell me the vampire is at least dead. The one that helped kill my brothers."

"No."

"What? You let him get away?" Jacques asked, the anger boiling over.

"… yes."

"Wh-"

"_I have my reasons._ Just… just drop it, okay. Please?" Cecilia asked.

"What reasons could you have possibly had to let something like him get away!"

"He's not a _something. _He _was _my friend!"


	4. Tales of the Damned 1

Blinded by rage, by betrayal, by the hand of a damned _human, _Gavin tore his way through one of the castle's many hallways. He had to rejuvenate; normally it would be no problem to one such as himself, but that cross had seared his flesh with all the holy indignation that knight could muster. Not to mention the three deep whiplashes across his back, courtesy of Cecilia.

Muttering darkly, Gavin burst through a door, breaking the wood, catching himself with a blast of splinters. He collapsed onto the floor beyond. He needed blood, and he needed it now.

"Master Gavin. Is there a way I can be of service?" came the blank tones of a thrall, a woman who had been shorn of her free will, made to tend to the castle and its inhabitants.

Gavin pounced.

* * *

"My, you do look awful Gavin. You really should not be such a messy eater."

Gavin paused, wiping his mouth, dropping the too-pale and lifeless body to the floor, draining slowly from a jugular rent asunder. "You would be wise not to anger me right now," Gavin threatened.

"That is no way to be. Are we not friends?" asked a young blond lad, clad in hues of sky blue, stepping gingerly over the shower of splinters and broken shards of wood, followed shortly thereafter by a young lady clad in dark laces and a dour expression, toting for her apparent master a parasol.

"I wonder about friends sometimes," Gavin said, stomping once, twice, thrice on the discarded body whispering words of revilement towards humans, blood staining his boots. "Tell me. How bad is it?" Gavin asked softly.

"Well. It appears you are rather burnt on the side of your face and neck. Do I make out the edges of a cross, friend Gavin?" the lad asked, stepping fully into the room, taking a seat at a desk pressed close to a window, through which flakes of falling snow were visible. The lady took a spot nearby to him.

"Your glibness does you no credit, Cross. And neither does bringing one of those things here right now," Gavin said, pointing an accusatory finger at the woman.

"Leave Lucy alone. You have already broken one lady, and I would be pleased if you did not attempt to do the same to mine," Cross said, gently pushing a strewn limb away from his chair with one foot.

"Don't act as if it's a person. It's just a slave. We'll have her replaced within the hour," Gavin said, retrieving a cloth, with which he scrubbed at caked blood, both his and the thrall's, from his mouth.

"You are so crass today, Gavin. Would you tell me what is the matter?"

"Do not ask that of me. I've no patience for your false comfort today."

"I am sincere as can be, sir. Please. Come sit with me for a time. Tell me what is the matter."

Gavin hesitated for a moment, before relenting and taking his place upon a lounger, tucked into the corner. "She betrayed me, Cross. Tore my heart asunder. And for this… I will have revenge."

"You are terribly dramatic, Gavin."

"I _told_ you it is not wise to cross me right now."

"Calm, friend. I mean no disrespect by it. If you wish it of me, I'll take my leave."

"... no. Stay. I could do with someone who I don't think will betray me."

"You're being dramatic again."

Gavin stared, his gaze hard and aglow with the power of his bloodline.

"You know tricks like that do not work on me."

The elder vampire sagged, slouching in his seat, his healing starting to kick in. His face would keep those scars made by holy implements, but they would fade slowly in time. Never entirely, but well enough. For now, it merely sewed itself shut once more.

"She rejected me when I only wished for her to be happy. For her to come here and live. Perhaps forever, if so she chose it."

"Not everyone wishes for life eternal, friend Gavin," Cross said. The boy alone could scarcely have been older than twelve, however finely dressed he was and how well he spoke.

"Don't bore me with your sob stories. I've no desire to hear them right now."

"And you would make me hear yours?"

"I would make you do nothing. You are the one who decided to come here."

"And I receive the inquisition for my courtesy in coming to see a friend?"

"Quit with your sarcastic questions."

"I ask for clarity's sake, friend. Clarity's sake. I am glad to see you in good enough health, Gavin, but it appears as if my welcome has been rather thoroughly worn out. Come Lucy. We'll see ourselves out," Cross said with a tip of his hat.

"Finally," said the woman, for the first time.

Gavin seethed in the darkness as the two of them left, letting out a howl as he threw an antique decoration at the door they retreated through; left alone, abandoned, with his thoughts.


	5. 4 Legion of the Damned

CHAPTER 4 – Legion of the Damned

_Friend? How could you have been a friend with one of those damned creatures? The spawn of hell they were!_

Jacques stalked through the halls of Castlevania. He hadn't been able to stay in there for any longer. He was thankful for the help she had given him… but. Well. There was only so much any man could take, be they saint or sinner.

There were still the two wings of the castle, both left and right of the entrance hall, and he made for the left wing of the castle. Perhaps he could find his way to the innermost sanctums from there; after all, Dracula had to be somewhere within this forsaken castle.

For the first time he noticed that the flooring that led into the left wing was covered with viscous ooze, tinged a faint red, glimmering faintly in the cool and flickering light of the torches. Stepping carefully through and over it, Jacques shouldered open the door, keeping his halberd at the ready.

The room beyond was yet another corridor, far shorter than those that had come before it. And once it opened out into the room proper, a true marvel laid itself out. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

Giant vats lined the wall, letting off noxious vapors that carried an obscene stench. He was surprised that it did not waft throughout the castle proper. _Must be some unholy trick to stop it,_ he surmised. Elsewhere, tools of torture and so-called science lined the walls. What some men saw as science, righteous men saw as the violent exhumation of innocent souls laid to rest.

Not to mention that it chilled him to the very bone. There were things that man ought not to mess around with, and it seemed as if this castle was intent on housing each and every one of them.

Even the ground was covered in a variety of alchemical circles, with paltry amounts of things he recognized; sage and other plants, along with some things he most assuredly did not. Demonic ichor, he assumed.

He made his way through the cavernous room, but weren't they all? But all the while, he could hear them. Whenever he was alone, it seemed to come back up. The sounds they had made, death rattle and wail. His brethren, as they fell around him… but no.

This was… different, somehow. They were the screams of man, and screams he even recognized… but they were not the echoes of memory. No. These were fresh and new. But… they were all dead, weren't they?

Jacques made his way along a series of landings, connected by stairs with a massive vat at each landing. At the end of the row, he clung to a vat that made a corner into the next chamber, from which those pitiful screams seemed to emanate. He pressed close to its warm and grained exterior, peeking around its side at what lay beyond.

A further alchemical circle, surrounded at every point by candles whose flames burnt tall and green, straight and unflinching. And in the middle… _something_ sat.

_A cross here, a breastplate there._

A giant orb made of flesh and cloth and steel…

_Hair, bone, nose, eye, ear._

Rendered in a faint pulsing red light, a _thing_ sat, an amalgamation of corpses, dressed more often than not in knightly garb and peasant rags.

_An order rent asunder, a village so mercilessly slaughtered._

It heaved in and out like a giant beating heart, and on every "exhale" it screamed. Moans of pain, of anger, of anything that could be put in human tongue, forced outward. It was as if they were wired together, fused into one organism that breathed and spoke through a hundred mouths, clinging together and glowing red from within.

The rush of nausea was dizzying, and behind the vat Jacques could do nothing but retch.

"Ah, it seems as if we've a visitor. Won't you come join our little party?"

The voice was so unexpected that it drove Jacques immediately to attention and alert, raising his weapon in defense. It was not the booming voice he kept expecting, that of the lord of the castle… but this was the voice of a woman. Dark and seductive, the tempting of a snake. What could it be? Just who was th-

"Oh, it appears as if our new friend does not wish to come out and play. Well… this is not ready yet. Slogra. Gaibon. Please fetch me a new building block," came that voice again. Clipped, now, authoritative.

Jacques cursed to himself, and a moment later heard the beat of leathery wings followed by an unearthly screech, the pound of clawed feet.

He backpedaled swiftly, only catching a glimpse as a nearly skeletal spear-wielding creature came around the corner, sparks kicked up by what appeared to be talons, letting loose another screech from its beak. In all, it put him in mind of a bipedal, featherless bird. Above, a bull-headed gargoyle appeared, a wisp of flame spouting from its maw.

Jacques immediately broke out into a run. Damned things. Down the stairs, the landings, he went. But… he couldn't keep his back to them forever, could he? There was a great intake of air, before he felt a blast of hot air around his heels. Sparks of fire shot up his back, and he took that moment to turn around. The bipedal bird had held back just so, letting the fireball dissipate after it hit the ground, and that hesitation let Jacques go on the attack.

He grabbed immediately for the spear, pushing forward and getting a good grip on the demon's wrist. He heard that same intake of air, and knew the gargoyle was behind him. 3… 2… 1…

The fireball came with a great woosh, and he pulled the bird around, the fireball catching his new shield full across the back. He kicked the beast firmly in the stomach as it reeled from a burnt back, and dragged the spear out of its hands, taking only a moment to aim as the beleaguered gargoyle went to its ally's aid.

The jagged spear caught the gargoyle not only through the flesh of its shoulder, but the blade clipped its wing in that same harsh throw. It veered right into one of the vats, rocking it heavily on the hinges it depended on to stay upright. The vat tipped ever so slowly, a luminous green liquid pouring over the edge. With a splash and a sizzle it hit the ground, enveloping both Slogra and Gaibon.

Jacques averted his eyes and ran for dear life, reaching the next set of stairs as what seemed like acid drained downward, blocking off any hope of going back through that particular door.

Damn.

Which meant… the only way to go from there…

"Oh. Slogra, Gaibon. It's not so nice to break a lady's playthings. Won't you come out to where I can see you, knight?" The voice of that woman again… and it sent shivers down Jacques' spine. And… his legs. In fact, his legs moved of their own accord, propelling him forward. Forcing him up stair after stair, back to where that monstrosity sat in repose.

"There is a good boy. Does it not feel so much better when you just do as you're told?"

_Yes, it does._

"To let go? Give in?"

_Yes. I apologize for what I have done to displease you._

"Come and let me make it all better…"

_As you com_-

"Get out of my head, you _witch,_" Jacques said, his gauntleted fingers clinging at everything he could reach, at the bases of vats, at the stairs, his legs sore and screaming with the pain of trying to resist whatever it was that she was making him do.

"A resilient one. I see," the voice was clipped and harsh now, and Jacques was forcefully propelled into the central chamber, where the monstrosity sat, several feet higher than it had been when he had gone, more complete now.

"Isn't it wonderful? I do wish to thank you for bringing me the rest of these materials. The materials from that village were subpar, and while some of your friends insisted on ruining themselves for any sort of proper use, they were still quite vital." He was able now to place a voice to a face, as from a chair on high, in a self-contained balcony, a woman stood.

Hair was dark as pitch, with elegant, refined features. Her lips pulled themselves into a full pout in the brightest red. High cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes of a purest emerald. Complemented by a dark gown, gossamer black, that held to and complemented her curvaceous figure. A true beauty without equ- NO.

She was a rather plain looking woman. Her hair pulled back into a bun, with a thin face that looked rather too self-assured, middling height and stuffed into a black dress of high fashion but a century too late.

"Strong-willed, too. Impressive," the woman said quietly, raising a hand. "I commend you, knight. You will be given the highe-"

"_Enough _of these games! Dracula or not, if you are the vampire causing all of this, then I _will _see you to your grave!"

The woman paused. "You are starting to wear out my patience. You _will_ refer to me as Countess, as befits a whelp like you. Legion. Consume."


	6. 5 Hope of the Damned

CHAPTER 5 – Hope of the Damned

_Friend? How could you have been a friend with one of those damned creatures? The spawn of hell they were!_

Those and other thoughts raced through Cecilia's mind. It was a reasonable enough thing to think, wasn't it? That no group could be entirely evil by nature. Especially a group comprised of those forced into a life that, by all right, they might not have wanted.

But… it was hard to fly hope in the face of the harsh realities in the world. You couldn't do that forever; at least, you could not do it and keep your sanity.

"Cecilia, are you alright?" came a voice, like a mouse's squeak. Lumina, the fairy of light. A gift, in fact…

"Yes, Lu… yes, I'm alright," she said, looking down at Lumina, still sitting in Cecilia's hands.

"Well. Alright. We should go and make sure that stupid knight doesn't get himself killed," Lumina said.

Cecilia was quiet a mere moment. She knew that Jacques wanted nothing to do with her just then. But all the same… While they might not have gotten along, two (or in this case three) were much better than one. She got up, brushed herself off, and gave her whip a cursory snap.

Out into the corridor she went, leaving the ballroom behind her, following Lumina's wavering form as she fluttered along ahead of her. She could hear some sort of commotion off in the left wing of the castle, so she headed in that direction, noticing not only the viscous ooze but also an oozed footprint just by the door itself. Well, it didn't take a genius to figure that one out.

She pushed at the door, but it gave no way. When she tried, she could hear just the slightest of sloshing beyond. It looked like something was blocking her way, then. Well… damn it. She gave it a quick tug to see if it went the other way, but resolutely stayed stuck in its frame. No, no it did not swing this way.

"Looks like he's on his own, Lu," Cecilia said, patting the solid frame of the door.

"Nothing that could be done for it, I suppose," Lumina said, taking a brief seat upon the door handle. "Maybe we can go to the other wing. They meet up down the line," she said, kicking her feet legs idly.

"Do they?"

"Yep! Remember, I used to live here. They meet up down the way in the clock tower," Lumina said, falling forward off of the handle. Her wings, vaguely translucent as they were, caught and beat rapidly at the air, flitting back down the hallway. Cecilia followed dutifully after.

On the other side of the sun-streaked hall, lay the entrance to the library. It was predictably massive, with shelf after shelf of books lining the walls. High above, the various books could be seen to fly like bats, roosting high above. Demonic ichor dripped from the shelves, perhaps from the very books themselves. Disgusting place.

"So, Lu, I'll take it that this is the library?"

"Pantry, actually," the fairy said as she flitted toward a nearby torch, basking briefly in its light, regaining some of the power she had earlier expended on bringing Jacques back from what had very nearly been the brink of death.

"I'll whip you out of the air," Cecilia said, running her fingers along one of the burnished oak shelves. "Come on. Let's just keep going." This place gave her the chills, even moreso than usual. The chill of death. Even the thought running across her mind made the room seem just that much cooler, too.

As they headed deeper into the library, it did seem as if it grew cooler and cooler, every breath being heralded by a puff of white air as the room truly dropped in temperatures. Outside, through windows higher still than even the book-bats, streamed brilliant rays of sunlight. Adding to the eerie chill of the room.

"Is it always co chill in here?" Cecilia asked, unable to resist sneaking a peek at the various titles on the shelf. The titles, mere words on the binding, were enough to cause a bolt of pain to shoot through her head, down and along her spine and limbs. A numbing shock of pure unfiltered pain that nevertheless caused her to want to reach out, sneak a peek at the words within.

"Cecilia! Don't look at them! They're not meant for human eyes." Her fairy rushed to her side, quickly covering both of Cecilia's eyes. "They drive men insane," she whispered, only relinquishing her covering hands when Cecilia took a few steps back, averting her gaze from the shelf.

"Thanks, Lu," Cecilia said, waving her fairy away with a smile. It seemed that monsters were not the only things to worry about here… but, given the creatures which flew way above, there was no saying in all honesty that the things that lined the shelves were mere books.

YOU WOULD DO WELL TO LISTEN TO HER ADVICE.

Cecilia started, and Lumina turned a paler shade of yellow.

"Cecilia, let's go. Quickly," Lumina said, tugging quickly at Cecilia's wrist.

CURIOUS. WHY DOES A FAIRY SEEK TO SAVE A HUMAN?

"She's not just a human! She's my friend!" Lumina tried to tug Cecilia away, who stood as if transfixed by a voice that seemed to pass not through air or ear, but straight into the mind.

FUNNY. HA HA HA. It sounded like the pound of granite slabs, boring right into the skull. YOU ARE BELMONT. I RECOGNIZE THE WHIP. IT SEEMS AS IF WE REALLY DID MISS YOU IN WALLACHIA. SHAME.

"What? You were one of the ones that attacked Wallachia?" Cecilia asked, shocked out of her trance, her hand immediately flying to her whip.

"You can't fight him!" Lumina said, almost in hysterics, dragging at Cecilia's arm, her wings beating furiously and vainly at the air.

"And why not?" Cecilia asked, still speaking only to the air and a voice whose owner she could not see.

"Because He's-," Lumina started, just as from behind a bookshelf appeared a swish of cloak and shining steel, "Death!"

ASTUTE.

Cecilia only had a moment to dodge the swish of a coming scythe, air-thin blade tearing wholly through the side of a bookshelf, shearing matter itself wherever its blade touched. The air itself sung its praises of annihilation with a sibilant hiss.

Cecilia got her whip up in time to meet the scythe on its second swing, a blast of holy and unholy energies filling the air, arcane sparks kicked up at the contact of leather and steel.

THIS VAMPIRE KILLER OF YOURS. IT IS WEAK. FAKE BELMONT.

"I am no fake!" Cecilia lashed out with her whip again, catching Death Himself across the face with the whip. He recoiled, but otherwise, it seemed to have little effect. _Was_ her whip weak, somehow? She had little time to ponder the matter, dodging Death's countering scythe strike.

"Just run!" Lumina screeched, flying swiftly away, heading for the end of the library. Cecilia had little option but to follow, breaking into a run behind Lumina.

NO ESCAPE.

The air hissed behind her as scythe after unholy scythe was released, shearing whole shelves apart, cuts so clean, so fine down to the molecule that it made no sound until the shelf was rent asunder, falling to the polished marble floors.

Miracle of miracles, they reached one of the many high doors that connected wing from wing in this castle. Lumina tried in vain to push down the handle, only for Cecilia's shoulder and a swing of Death's scythe tore the door apart.

Cecilia spilled out onto the floor beyond, her head hitting the floor with a resounding crack, pain blossoming down her head. Lumina immediately arrived at her side, pouring forth a radiant light. "Get up, get up, he's still coming!"

CHASE IS OVER. REST IN PEACE.

"Stop this at once," came a voice, cool but unmistakably male.

_But that was…_

BUT SHE TRESPASSES UPON OUR LORD. BELMONTS MUST DIE.

"Let me handle the honors."

_Gavin?_

… AS YOU WISH.

The cloak disappeared without a further trace, and Cecilia hazily pushed herself to her feet, this new headache coming across her in waves.

"Gavin! Why did you save me?" Cecilia asked, running her fingers across her forehead, where the blood flowed, sticky and fresh. She hit the ground harder than she thought she had, even if Lumina had already healed the wound, such as it was.

They had spilled out into a great cathedral. It was… dark, though. Twisted. Something about the statues, of Mary, of apostles, of angels most holy… came across as wrong. Perverted into something sinister.

And Gavin… clothed in that same purple suit, burnt along one side of his face, sprawled out on a great papal throne. He sat in silence, looking down on Cecilia coldly.

"Ga-

"_Do not call me that._ If you come here to kill me, don't speak so familiarly to me. My name is Lord Gavin Tepes, son of our Dark Lord Dracula. _And you will address me as such, Cecilia Belmont."_


	7. Tales of the Damned 2

TotD 2 – Camaraderie

_There was nothing for it, was there? Dracula had never been any secret to Europe as a whole. He rose again and again and menaced a world ill-equipped to fight him. He was the Dark Lord. Master of Death, beacon of Undeath, and an equal to God on this earth._

_The Belmont clan, once feared, but since revered after Trevor Belmont's brave fight against Dracula all those years ago. But now none showed. There was supposedly a descendant in Wallachia, but their recruitment drive had brought about no scion of their family._

_So it was up to men of God to do the work of the so-called and disappeared Vampire Killer._

* * *

The cart was one of many on the way to the damned castle, so recently appeared on a lonely island in the middle of a lake. Wagons bedecked with iron bands that reinforced it against attack, wheels crafted similarly. They creaked and clattered horribly on stone roads, but was hardly the loudest thing. Men, foot soldiers really, marched alongside the carts that ferried forth the more experienced knights. The elite, if you would, the men that carried the burden of being knights of God upon their backs. Including one knight in particular...

"Jacques! Wake up, will you?" came a voice out of nowhere, followed by a repeated nudge to the ribs.

One Sir Renard, knight of the Hospitaller Order, was jerked out of his brief reverie. Leaned up against one side of the carriage, he had fallen asleep on the ride to the castle. They had set up a camp an hour or two out, according to the scouts, and were on there away away fro mthere.

"Giuseppe, quit it you fool," Jacques said with a begrudging grin, pushing away the intruding Giuseppe. Pierre, Giuseppe, Gilles, and Antoine. They were among his closest friends in this Order.

"You wound me, Jacques. You wound me deep to my core," he said, feigning a bolt to the chest. Including death rattle.

"Keep messing about, and he just might shoot you," Pierre said, sharpening his beloved halberd, so recently anointed by His Holiness Himself. A weapon he would treasure always, a prize for his many services.

"No, I wouldn't kill you. I'll let your own lackadaisical nature do you in."

"Lackadaisical? I wasn't the one napping, sir. I could have stabbed you thrice in the time it took you to realize I was jabbing you."

"Takes a minute to register someone like you as a threat."

"My pride. My poor and innocent pride. Why do you wound me so, dear friend? What have I done to earn your ire?"

"You would think, with such dire circumstances at hand, you two would take matters a little more seriously," Antoine said.

"Those who would stare down death will laugh at anything, Antoine. Deny no man their simplest pleasures," Gilles said, nudging the ever-stuffy Antoine. For all his stuffiness, his heart was at least in the right place.

"I just think it ill-befits those on a mission from God."

"We fight in the name of holiness, against a manifestation of pure sin. I doubt a bit of ribbing will detract overmuch from our mission."

"Agreed. Save that stick up your backside until you need it to club someone with," Giuseppe said.

"I never!"

"Also agreed. Give it a try sometime."

"Oh calm down, you lot. We ride for God. We'll be fine. We have each other, right?" Pierre asked.

"Nothing can stop the lot of us, eh?" Jacques said.

The cart rolled ever on, ferrying knights triumphant.

* * *

_Rally, men! The spawn of hell cannot stand before God's might!_

_They're… they're feeding! They have Giuseppe!_

_Don't break ranks! They'll kill us quickly!_

_I-i-i-it's the Grim!_

* * *

_Lightning split the air…_


	8. Tales of the Damned 3

TotD #3 – Midsummer's Eve

The countryside was lovely this time of the year. The ground was slicked with dew, blades of grass almost luminescent as they wavered gently in the breeze. The nightlife was rife with the sounds of nature. Calls of spritely little birds as they settled down to sleep, the hoot of the nocturnal owl as they began their nightly hunt.

A staccato of insects, cicada chirp and grasshopper song.

Cecilia had been brought out here into the dense forests, these forests that smelled heavily of honeysuckle, that surrounded her hometown by a note. Etched in white gold, written in sweeping loops of red ink, and signed by Gavin. Her dearest friend in this world.

They had often come out here, at least once a month, at most once a week, but even still this was an oddity. She never received such flowery notes, asking her to the Hangman's Knot, an old tree once used for lynching, now replaced by the much more civil act of burnings when and where needed.

"Gavin, are you here?" Cecilia called out, stepping into the clearing that surrounded the warped and knotted tree from which it partially derived its name. It was as if no other tree dared set root near the tree that so dominated this neck of the woods. Lumina, her ever faithful companion, flitted alongside.

"He's here. I can feel him," Lumina said.

"Cecilia, my dear. It is lovely to see you." The voice came out of nowhere, but that was hardly unexpected.

"See?"

"Knock it off," Cecilia said, taking a swat at Lumina. "Come out where I can see you," she called again to Gavin, paying the indignant fairy no mind as she came close to the tree. A lone basket sat upon the bump in the land the tree claimed, far too small to be called anything so glorious as a hill. She raised the top of the basket, revealing a rather lavish feast within, still hot.

"I do hope you like it," Gavin said.

"It looks divine," Cecilia said with a smile, turning around to face the suddenly appeared vampire, catching him in a friendly embrace.

Mere moments later, the two of them were leaned side by side against the tree, Gavin's crisp purple tailcoat hanged elsewhere for fear of grass stains. A hidden pair of bottles, well up to Gavin's theatrics, had been procured. One red and chilled, carrying the sickly sweet smell of death, assuredly claimed from those on their last legs, and Cecilia had had little reason to call him on such a thing. The other was a fine wine, of a vintage only the lifeless could reasonably obtain.

"Why did you call me out here?" Cecilia asked. She stretched her legs out, running her bare feet through the dewy grass. Lumina sat on the basket itself, fully gorged on soft bread; a rarity at times.

"I wanted to ask something of you, Cecilia," Gavin said, his voice barely audible.

"Oh?"

That silence lapsed into a few mere moments, stretching into a minute. "I wanted to ask you to come with me. The castle has again arisen… I wish for you to accompany me there. We're friends, right?"

Cecilia spluttered on her sip of wine, a few drops landing on her dress.

"Come on, it'll be fun! I used to live there," Lumina said.

"Well… I mean… I couldn't! All of my family is back in town," Cecilia said. There was no way she could live there, no matter whether or not she was friends with Gavin or not.

"I was afraid of that. I don't think it will be a problem," Gavin said.

The forest seemed to lapse into silence, even as he said that. No. In fact it had been silent for some time. The insects had ceased their calls. The nocturnal birds their hunts.

"What do you mean?"

The air no longer smelled of honeysuckle. It smelled burnt.

"I mean I have already solved the problem. You can come live with me without a problem."

Cecilia jerked to her feet, gazing at the sky. Was that… smoke?

"It's alright. There's nothing to stand between us."

Gavin's words drifted through one ear, and out the other. Cecilia stood there, as if transfixed, before snatching her boots. She shoved them both on and took a run at the forest. Did it mean what she thought it meant?

"Where are you going?" Gavin was upon her in a heartbeat, grabbing at her arm with one hand, still holding that wineglass with perfect poise in his other.

"What did you do! Is… is that Wallachia? Is that what's burning!"

"Well, yes. I thought it would make the decision easier to make. You can come to the castle with me now."

"Are you mental? My family is there!"

"I can be your new fam-"

"I want _my _family! My human family!"

Gavin's expression hardened. "What is a human?" he asked, throwing down his wineglass, blood splattering across the grass. "A miserable little pile of secrets! That wastes and rots!"

"_I'm_ human you crazy bastard," Cecilia shouted, throwing off his grip. He grabbed again for her, only to be batted away with the smack of holy leather, her family whip snatched from her hip. "Let me go," Cecilia said.

Gavin paused… before stepping out of the way. "Fine," he said. "Go. If you miss your precious humans so much."

Cecilia stopped for only a moment, giving him a teary-eyed look, before breaking off in a run. Lumina looked blearily up, before buzzing after her on wings that furiously beat the air.

"Lumina."

Compelled, Lumina stiffened in the air, her golden hair briefly gaining a tint of purple. Her wings continued to beat at the air, hitting it like a hummingbird, keeping her aloft.

"Do your duty."

"Do my duty," she mimed, as if her voice were no longer her own.

"Good girl."


	9. 6 Salvation of the Damned

CHAPTER 6 – Salvation of the Damned

Jacques hit the ground, and he hit it hard, with a solid crack against the stone. He scrambled quickly to his feet, only barely escaping the crush of the Legion. Arms, horrible and twisted, reached out for him as the creature rolled across the laboratory. It screamed with every rattling breath, and the smell of rot pervaded the room.

Jacques had no idea of what to do.

Those faces, those arms, those ripped clothes and armor… belonged to friends of his. The Knights Hospitaller. They were human no longer, but still hard for him to strike at. Even if that posed no difficulty to him, the thing obviously hungered for him, and when he had swung at it with his halberd, its hands had reached out.

They had grabbed onto the weapon, and even as their profane flesh sizzled at the holy touch, they had dragged at him. Pulled. They had nearly sucked him into the mass of bodies before he'd managed to jerk back, the shaft of the halberd burning through the grip at last, leaving blackened flesh where once had been grasping fingers.

He feared that next time he would not be able to remove himself from their vile grip fast enough, and he would be, as that woman had said, consumed. The thought repulsed him.

"Call this thing off and fight me yourself!" Jacques yelled, dodging the mass of hands that reached at him. He hit the ground again, clambering beneath one of the vats that filled the room along its edges. This one seemed to be empty, and when the Legion crashed into it, the metal bucked and groaned.

CLANG.

_Hmm._

"Why would I ruin the show? You've brought this upon yourself, fool boy. You come to my castle, lay waste to my servants. This is far better than you deserve," the Countess said.

CLANG.

Jacques crawled across the floor, keeping to the wall, out of the arms' reach, letting the Legion bash itself time and time again against the vats, causing the metal to bend with a cacophony.

CLANG.

"If you are not going to insist on hiding and making the show boring, I'll be forced to end it," the Countess called. And even as she spoke, Jacques could feel the grasp of her mind. His legs were jerked first, and then his arms and shoulders. An unseen, unknowable force dragging him inexorably out of his hiding place.

CLANGrrrr.

_Yes!_

Even as Jacques was dragged forcibly out, the vat's supports started to break, falling outward toward the Legion. But it did not crush the thing, no. The entire row fell, the mere stones beneath starting to crumble, opening into the blackness below. Jacques held on for dear life, but mere human grip was not enough. The stone gave way beneath both Jacques and Legion both, and the floor swallowed them whole.

There was blackness for a time, nothing but air and screams. It was hard to tell if it were his own… or if it was just the scream of the Legion as it fell, scores of mouths open in horror. It all ended abruptly with a splash of water, of stone crashing below into a pool. Jacques had only the briefest of moments to suck in a breath before he, too, was submerged.

He sunk like a stone into the water, his steel boots touching briefly upon the base of this pool. There was finally light, but that was little comfort. A faint green light suffused the water he had crashed into, and he had only a moment to look around before a giant mass hit the water. The wave pushed him away, further along the bottom of the pool.

But here, he found that he could no longer move, his arms restricted too much by the armor. He dropped his halberd and dragged at his armor's straps, eventually releasing the heavy piece of metal. It sunk straight to the bottom of the pool, before he retrieved his halberd.

His lungs screamed for release, and he scrabbled at the ground as swiftly as he could. He clung as hard as he could to his beloved polearm, finding a use for it in striking it against the ground, hooking his way with the axblade up the slope he found himself on. He refused to die down here in the water. Drowning… after all he had gone through this night…

Kicking silt up the whole way, clouding the water, he dragged himself onto the ground beyond.

He sucked in breath after breath of life-giving air; no matter how stale the air, it was the greatest thing he had ever imbibed into his body. He lay there for several moments longer, merely recuperating from the fall.

He didn't seem to be missing anything, other than his breastplate, of course.

What was he going to do? He somehow doubted that the Legion was gone; even if a few bodies were crushed by the fall, it somehow seemed unlikely that the entire thing would perish in the water. Which meant he had to find a way around it. He couldn't fight the thing.

But he had to, didn't he? All of his brethren, his dearest friends in this world… had been bound to that thing. They deserved a better grave than as a monstrosity created by a mad vampire. They needed to be put out of their misery.

Jacques stood slowly, drawing himself up to his full height. Clutching tight to his halberd, the sole remaining piece of armament he had gathered from his allies in the Knights. It seemed like the only right way to send them out.

He crept away from where he had come out of the water. No matter how bright it was underwater, a product, he discovered, of a variety of underwater vines that clung to the sides of the pool, the cavern itself was still dark. And he could hear it.

The moans, the screams. Voices he recognized.

_Giuseppe, Pierre, Antoine, and all the others. You won't go un-avenged, my friends._

He stuck close by the water, but with every step, he could hear shambling. Feet dragging across the stone floor, and those same feeble screams. He leaped over a narrow part of the pool, where the rock formed an outcropping across to the other side, and went carefully. There, not far away, he could see the Legion in the middle of the pool. Must have been what pushed him away.

It had broken apart across the top, revealing a core that pulsated and beat like an enormous heart. Bodies, now mere zombies, dragged themselves away, through the water and onto the stone. Like bees from a hive, out to find something to bring back to its home. Him.

A hand closed around his ankle.

He hit the stone hard, dropping his halberd, and did his best to stifle a scream and suck in a breath of air before he was pulled into the water. A zombie, one of many, a member of the "legion", looked at him with those dead, vacant eyes.

_Antoine._

Jacques thrashed about in the water, getting the creature across the face with a heavy, gauntleted fist. A second and then a third, prying himself out of the zombie's clutches. Kicking him hard in the chest as an afterthought, Jacques quickly clambered back on to dry land.

Immediately he grabbed for his halberd, managing a weak slash as he turned onto his back, cutting down the familiar face as it dragged itself over the side of the pool. There was only one road left to salvation for his fallen friends, and it was paved in fire and fury.

He could hear the screams of the zombies as the rest of the Legion converged on his position, even as Antoine sunk back into the depths, his final resting place.

The knight leapt back across the chasm, running down toward the pool, dodging those zombies that had gone for where he'd come up. The Legion was nearly impenetrable, normally, but since it had broken apart…

He angled for where the stone rose up, and took a flying leap of faith. He hung in the air for what seemed like a full minute, the hands of the Legion rising up to greet him, to embrace him and welcome him into the fold. He held tight to his weapon with both hands, and plunged its spearhead straight into the core of the Legion.

The entire beast swayed, and tried to buck Jacques from where he stood, waist-deep in bodies, but he would not budge. No storm could have budged him just then.

It writhed, screamed, shrieked and cried, a variety of animalistic sounds that no sentient human could mimic, and the zombies around the cavern started to fall still on the ground. Jacques breathed heavily, even as the beast grew still beneath him. The core grew quiet.

Jacques let out a shaky laugh, slowly wrenching free his holy weapon. The flesh that clung to it scorched black by holy judgment, dripping off onto the Legion's corpse. Jacques fell back into the water, now littered with inert corpses, scrambling back to shore.

He would see to it that every vampire in this castle would burn, writhe, and die in righteous fury. No creature could do such a thing to his brothers and be allowed to live. But for now, they had been laid to rest. And that was what was important.

He stood, clutching the halberd, leaning it against his shoulder as he set off for a way out, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. And as he walked, far off in the distance, deeper still in the caverns and far higher up, there shone a faint light.

A mere hint at first, growing stronger. A golden light, pure and radiant, slowly corrupted and tinged by purple.


	10. 7 Sentiment of the Damned

Thought it was finally time to return to this story! It's been a couple of months since I put up the last chapter, and I do hope not to take such a break again. In the interim, I've become the administrator of a chat room, so, well. That's taken up some of my time, along with school.

Let's get crackin'.

* * *

Chapter 7 – Sentiment of the Damned

"Get down!" Lumina shrieked, jerking as hard as she could on Cecilia's shoulder. The Belmont barely budged, hit with the revelation like a thousand bricks.

This was what she had come here to do. To kill Gavin, to end his life for his hand in ending the lives of everyone she knew. Everyone she loved. The callous burning of Wallachia; and for what? A foolish, misinformed attempt to curry favor with her? But in the end… could she really do it? End the life of someone she'd considered a friend?

Gavin did not seem to have nearly the existential crisis that she did.

His whisper-thin rapier sliced through the air, the vampire moving with absolutely inhuman speed. Brought on by rage, by his own perceived betrayal. Cecilia moved only by instinct, merely following Lumina's direction.

"Fight! This is what you came to do, isn't it!? To kill me!?" Gavin roared at her, his face contorted into something between rage and sorrow.

"I… n-no," she said, her voice barely audible above a whisper. She stumbled away from several more probing strikes, the rapier nicking her as Lumina led her ever backward. "I came to find out _why_!? Why would you do that? Any of this? I thought our friendship meant something to you!"

"I thought it meant something to you! They were only humans. They didn't _mean_ anything!"

"I'm human!"

"N-… you… you were special," Gavin said, staying his blade. "You deserved better than the chattel."

Cecilia's hand flickered to her side, resting briefly on the handle of the Vampire Killer. "Do… _not_ speak ill of the dead. They _weren't_ things. They were people! Like me!"

"Cecilia… dear… they didn't mat-" Gavin drew back suddenly, as the Vampire Killer slashed through the air, silencing him with a holy crack of thunder.

"_They mattered to me!_" The whip came at Gavin again, the vampire meeting the holy leather with a strike of his own rapier. The whip and rapier met time and time again in the air, Cecilia forcing Gavin back over the marbled floor.

"You _don't_ get to decide what's important to me you," slash, "arrogant," crack, "_leech,_" Cecilia shrieked.

Gavin disappeared into a shroud of bats, appearing a moment later several yards away behind her, his violet finery torn in several places, unholy blood eked from slashed wounds. His sword had been marked, deep grooves set into the metal by the holy power vested in the Vampire Killer.

"If this is the way it must be, then I will show you the power of the son of the dragon." The air around him grew thick with a purple haze, reeking of magicks most foul. Gathering at the tip of his rapier, pointed shakily at the scion of Belmont.

"You're the one who made it this way," Cecilia said, charging Gavin, whip outstretched, flowing with righteous fury, both personal and magical.

The purple haze coalesced into a series of fireballs around the vampire, and in a single horrible moment, the fireballs rained down on Cecilia Belmont.

The Vampire Killer arced through the profane hellfire. She was everywhere at once, the leather tearing through unholy flame, opening a hole in the firestorm that waged between them. The world stood still, Belmont before Tepes, the fire swirling around them like a whirlpool of unrighteous magick.

In that moment, Gavin's face, so haughty, so immaculate, even in the wake of the holy scar, was contorted into sheer terror. A face that begged for mercy, reflected in the eyes of a woman scorned, a hunter who would give no quarter.

She reached through the fire, cracking the whip behind her in the windup for the decisive blow.

"Lumina, help!" Gavin cried.

"Wh-" Cecilia made to turn, looking everywhere for her tiny companion.

The bolt of light, tinged purple, hit Cecilia full across the back. However light the faerie's magic, it still packed a punch, and Cecilia was sent sprawling past and beyond Gavin, onto the marble floors. She rolled to a stop, her back screaming in pain.

But there was no relief to come. A polished shoe came out of nowhere, catching Cecilia in the ribs, preternatural strength sending the hunter sliding across the floor.

"This is why you should not step before the son of the lord of vampires. No weak human can compare. Even if they are a Belmont," Gavin said. Approaching her, sword held high. A vacant-eyed Lumina floated behind him, her usual cheery gold a deep and majestic purple.

"You _coward._ I was beating you!" Cecilia croaked, pushing herself to her feet. Her ribs cried in protest, every bend of her body eliciting a stab of pain from her midsection.

"'Was' is the operative term, isn't it?" Gavin mocked, slashing at her.

She barely managed to deflect the path of the sword, but when she made to strike in turn, a further bolt of purple light hit her. This, too, she stopped with the Vampire Killer, but there was no stopping the next kick. Again in the ribs, and again it pushed Cecilia further across the floor. She hit the throne that Gavin had earlier perched upon with a sickening crunch, and a grind of stone as the impact pushed the throne back some. A cool breeze wafted up from below.

"Lumina… what did you do to her?" Cecilia asked. She was having a hard time keeping her head up, that next kick having further broken her ribs. Sleep… sleep seemed such a nice prospect just then. The breeze helped to rejuvenate her some, though, and she silently pressed back on the throne. It moved a few inches further. A… passage beneath?

"I didn't do anything to her. She was _my_ familiar, dear Ceci. I just let you borrow her," Gavin said, raising his sword high. A killing thrust.

"… heh… I knew you were a coward, Gavin. But having my friend spy on me… is just… sad."

"I am _not a coward!_" The sword flashed out, and Cecilia moved. The sword thrust right into the stone of the throne, pushing it back. Cecilia leaned back, and with a weak smile disappeared into the area beyond the throne.

Gavin fell over the throne itself, the sword embedded deep into the throne, the grooves put there by the whip locking it into the stone like a sheath. He pulled, but to no avail. "Lumina! Get after her!" he howled.

The purple faerie looked between Gavin and the corridor beyond, and dutifully, fluttered away after her friend.

* * *

Cecilia panted as she ran. Her ribs cried out for release with every step she took, and she swore she could feel them break even as she ran. Spots danced in front of her eyes, but for as long as she held on to the Vampire Killer, it did not seem to matter. Pain could wait for later, when she actually had time for it to intrude in her life.

When that "life" did not seem to only consist of a few more minutes in a dank and desolate passage.

The stairs wound downward, with cold, flickering torches only showing up every now and again on the way down. And the further she went, the longer she spent in the darkness, the torches becoming ever more infrequent.

"Because that's good planning," she muttered to herself.

She didn't know where she was going down here. She had never been here before, and even if she had, pain was obscuring much of what was happening just then. When she reached what seemed to be the bottom of this particular passage, she took every turn she could find.

Left, right, straight, and left again, putting as much distance between herself and Gavin as she could. Or Lumina… The thought brought a mist to her eyes. It… made sense, in retrospect. The little faerie was, at her core, a sort of monster. Given to her by Gavin…

But the little faerie had seemed so cheerful. So earnest and friendly. It didn't seem right that Gavin could take even that away from her.

She took the nearest passage again, collapsing in a heap in the room beyond. Her eyes had started to gain some sort of semblance of night vision, and she could hazily make out her surroundings. Broken down columns, one of the lowest areas of the castle she figured. She could barely see out of the side of the ruined columns, but she swore she could hear running water.

Deeper still… did this castle ever end?

Cecilia slowly turned onto her side, her hand, the one with which she wielded her Vampire Killer, touching briefly on her ribs. A… little rest. Yes. She could sleep here. She had taken so many turns… if they could still find her after all that…

Her eyes drifted shut.

* * *

The mind was a strange place. In it drifted the fog and mists of thought and memory. So obscured by pain, by malady and misfortune, rendered in a horrible clarity when given over to sleep.

"Cecilia."

She awoke with a start, but not in the caverns far below Castlevania. No… on a dirt road, hued orange.

She pushed herself out of the dirt, looking blearily around. The village of Wallachia… her place of birth, where she had been raised. The perennial home of the Belmonts.

The village around her was alight with fire, but not just that. It was also still, whole. Children ran in the streets, but in another moment they lay prone in the dirt. Covered in the gore of battle.

"What is this?"

"You know what it is. It is your home."

"I… I know that. But why does it look like this?"

"Because it isn't real. It's how you remember it. In every way you remember it. It is also how I remember it."

"Who… who are you?"

"A Belmont. Well. A memory of one. My name is Christopher. Like others before me… my power has been imbibed in this whip. This Vampire Killer."

"Christopher… Christopher the Hero!" Cecilia said, pushing herself to her feet. Amidst the flames, a man had appeared. Bearing a resemblance to her own father, but not quite the very same.

"If that is what you wish to call me," Christopher acknowledged. The fire warped around him like a mirage as he stepped out of it, onto the street with her.

"I am the memory the whip has of me. I stirred when the village was set aflame… I awaken now. You have not unlocked the full potential of the whip. It isn't strong enough to kill Dracula. Yet."

"But… I nearly killed Gavin with it."

"This whip isn't for the likes of him. He's weak. Strong, but if someone knows not how to use the muscles they possess… then they are weak. Cecilia. You are weak." Christopher said. But his tone was not unkind.

"I-!" Indignation reared its ugly head, but… he was right. She had reservations. She had been unable to act until it was too late for her home. She had been unable to act until Gavin had nearly killed her. "I was. But… I won't be. I will kill Gavin. I will kill them _all_ for what they've done."

"Don't focus on the what, Cecilia. That is what makes you weak. That is what makes Gavin weak. _Why_ will you do it?"

"Because… because he's evil! Because all of them are! For what they've done, for who they've killed, for the Belmonts for-"

"ENOUGH!"

Cecilia would normally have shrunk from the yell, but… she had had enough of shrinking back, stepping back when things became too much for her. Looking at the ground, she spoke to herself "No! They've caused so many atrocities! Who the hell _cares_ why I'm doing this!? It's a bad job, but someone's got to do it! Jacques, all those knights… they suffered because I didn't want to be a Belmont! I didn't want to kill Gavin, or go on any epic quest! I didn't want that to be my life! But…"

"… because _I_ was a coward, they all died. Or… or suffered. Or any other number of awful things!" She looked up then, staring Christopher Belmont, Christopher the Hero, Christopher the Vampire Killer, tears in her eyes. "That's why I'm doing this! And _to hell_ with you if you think that's not a good enough reason to fight them!"

"That is the only reason to fight them. Revenge isn't a good enough reason. That just makes you worse off. Other Belmonts have learned that. Leon… the first vampire killer fought for revenge at first. Stopping future atrocities… is the only reason to fight. Perhaps you've the resolve after all, Cecilia… Belmont," Christopher said with a weak smile.

Christopher walked past her, the young huntress trembling still with rage, remorse, and a resolve. A new one. To end all of these atrocities… to do the Belmont name proud.

"That is the Belmont spirit, Cecilia. You did not have it… but… you do now. Go. And see to it that Dracula rises not for another hundred years!"


End file.
